


In Your Eyes

by IneffableSoulmates (IamJohnLocked4life)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley's Bodyswap (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Canon Compliant, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, No Refractory Period, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Self-Acceptance, Self-Love, Self-cest, Spanking, Switching, in its many forms, of a sort, plentiful and varied sex acts, supernatural refractory abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IneffableSoulmates
Summary: “If this were it, if this were really your last night, on Earth or Heaven or any plane of existence, what would you do?” or The night they spent together at Crowley’s.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 216





	1. Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic utilises mouseover text and footnotes. The footnotes are linked to the bottom of the doc, and clicking "return to text" will bring you back up to your spot, but if you don't like navigating away from the main text, you can simply hover over the footnote and the linked text will appear in a few seconds.

Aziraphale still wasn’t sure why he agreed to this, except that, according to Crowley, his bookshop had been burned to the ground, and he hadn’t anywhere else to go. Wandering the streets until dawn didn’t seem the most sensible solution, and for all that angels didn’t need sleep, it had been rather a long and trying day, and surely no one would hold it against him if he took the liberty of a few hours rest before… well, before he had to deal with all that. He didn’t want to think about what “all that” might entail. He suspected dwelling on it too much at the moment would only dampen his mood, and he wanted to enjoy the lack of looming apocalypse for a bit.

Now that he was actually here, though, in a small metal box hurtling upwards to Crowley’s penthouse at far too fast a speed to be entirely natural, he wasn’t sure that enjoyment was the sensation he was feeling. Crowley seemed to be standing a quarter-inch too close for comfort, and Aziraphale’s stomach flip-flopped with nerves. Part nerves, part flying metal box, but regardless.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the bell dinged and the doors opened into a long, dark hallway. Crowley strode out ahead of him, snapping his fingers to illuminate soft ambient lighting throughout the flat. 

“Coming, Angel?”

Aziraphale screwed up his courage and stepped off the lift. He half expected some immediate response, a clap of thunder or a cold rush of air, something to indicate that he was entering a demon’s lair. Instead, he felt— nothing. The lift doors closed behind him, and he hurried to follow Crowley into the flat.

And stopped short.

“Er, what’s this then?”

He’d nearly stumbled upon a sculpture, which from what he could tell was two nude, winged figures engaged in some sort of… activity. 

Crowley had turned down another hallway (how many poorly lit corridors did one flat need?) and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Oh, that. It’s a sculpture.”

“I can see that. But what is it of?”

“Evil defeating Good, obviously.”

Aziraphale squinted at the figures in the dim light. He supposed from a certain angle it might appear that the two were engaged in a struggle. However, from the angle he was standing at, very little was left to the imagination. 

“I’m not so sure that’s—” he started, but turned to see Crowley had already left him behind. 

He shook his head and continued on into a surprisingly warm and humid space. Even more surprising, the room was filled with large, verdant plants, towering above him, draped along the walls and ceiling. He hadn’t seen such an impressive display of greenery outside of Kew Gardens. 

Crowley had turned off into an adjoining kitchen, and was rummaging in cupboards. 

“‘Fraid I don’t have any wine, Angel. Or tea, or cocoa. Wasn’t really expecting guests, oh… ever.” He stooped to look in a cupboard below, and Aziraphale determinedly did not look at the view of the demon bent over, black denims tight over his arse. Well. Perhaps he caught a quick peek, but he certainly didn’t stare. Best not indulge in too much temptation. 

“Aha!” Crowley cried victoriously, and spun around with a bottle in his hand. “Glenlivet twenty-five. Not as good as the fifty but it’ll do.” He rummaged around for another moment, producing a tumbler, and poured a healthy three fingers, a bit of booze sloshing out the glass and over his hand in his haste. He sauntered over to Aziraphale and thrust the drink in his direction. “Here. Drink.”

Not wanting to offend Crowley by turning down this obvious show of hospitality, Aziraphale took the glass from him. Their fingers grazed each other in passing, a few droplets of alcohol transferring from Crowley’s fingertips to his, and suddenly Aziraphale was overcome with the desire to know how it might feel to lick those fingers clean. And where had  _ that _ thought come from? 

Crowley wiped his hand off on his denims, making it a moot point, and Aziraphale resolutely shook himself from that bizarre train of thought. What was with him tonight?

“Cheers,” Crowley said, and clinked the bottle against Aziraphale’s glass. He took a healthy swig, so Aziraphale raised the tumbler to his lips and took a polite sip, and didn’t even cough that much at the burn. Crowley brought the bottle from his lips with a contented “Ahhh!” and grinned lazily at Aziraphale, who blinked and quickly tried to think of something innocuous to say.

“I, uh, didn’t know you liked plants.”

“We’re in a Goddamn garden almost every time we meet up, Angel. ‘Course I like plants.” The demon was trying for scornful chiding, but his cheeks had acquired a pinkish tinge, and while Aziraphale couldn’t see through his sunglasses, he could tell he was no longer making eye contact. 

“Well, yes. I just didn’t know you grew your own. They’re beautiful.”

This time Crowley actually turned away from him, though Aziraphale could see the colour had spread to the tips of his ears. He picked up a spray bottle and began aggressively spritzing the plants.

“And they’ll remain that way, if they know what’s good for them,” he grumbled. Aziraphale tried very hard not to be charmed by it all.

A few more emphatic sprays of mist, and Crowley tossed the bottle aside.

“Right, so kitchen, atrium, there’s a loo down that other way, not that I expect you’ll need it but it came with the place so.” He shrugged. “C’mon.” And he swaggered on to the next room. 

_He’s giving me a tour,_ Aziraphale realised, and then wondered why that thought made his throat feel tight. He followed Crowley, only to find him frantically picking sheets of paper off the floor. Other than the scattered papers, the main features of the austere space were a large, imposing desk, a giant flatscreen television, and what appeared to be a golden throne upholstered in tufted crimson velvet. 

“Sorry, usually cleaner than this, wasn’t expecting—” Crowley muttered as he continued to grab handfuls of paper and assemble them into some sort of order. A few more pages fluttered down from the ceiling. He glared at them. “You were meant to stay up there.”

Aziraphale set his glass on the desk next to Crowley’s abandoned whisky bottle and bent to help him, since it seemed the gracious thing to do. His eye caught on an image on one of the papers, a fiery star burning molten hot on the page. He picked up another, flipped it over to find a shimmery blue-green nebula with a flare of pink at one end. He looked around to see planets and stars strewn across the floor, just as Crowley circled the desk and scooped up the last of the loose pages. 

“Crowley…” 

The demon looked up from his armful of papers, freezing when he saw the two sheets in Aziraphale’s hands. 

“Ignore those. It wasn’t—just give them to me, I’ll bin the lot.” 

“No, Crowley, it’s fine. I’m…” He steeled himself. “I’m sorry.”

The demon just stared at him.

“For how I treated you, when you wanted—when you asked—well, I wasn’t very nice. All that talk about forgiving you, when in fact it is I who require your forgiveness.”

Crowley sniffed dismissively. “Nothing to forgive.”

“But there is. I said those horrible things, that you weren’t my friend, that I didn’t like you. I regret saying those words, and not only because they were a lie.” He took a deep breath. “For any hurt I caused you, I am truly sorry. I do like you, my dear, quite a lot. And while we did manage to avoid the apocalypse, I am just a tad sorry that I didn’t go with you to Alpha Centauri.” He looked down at the pages in his hands. “I’m sure it’s lovely.” 

There was a long, not-entirely-comfortable silence. Just when Aziraphale was considering inquiring on the art adorning the wall,[1] Crowley snatched the pages from his hands. 

“Should be, after all the work I put into it.”

“You mean that—that was one of yours?”

They’d never discussed this, the before-times, Crowley’s life before The Fall. Before he was Crowley or Crawley or… Aziraphale didn’t know what Crowley had been called when he’d been an angel. How strange. To know someone so long, yet not know them at all. A thousand questions rose to his tongue, but each fell dead on his lips.

Crowley had turned away and was stuffing the papers into an urn that was half-hidden in a dim corner of the room.

“Sure, well everyone had a hand in things back in those days, ‘ey? So much to do, not much time to do it in. I mean really, seven days? Unreasonable working conditions if you ask me. Not even a fortnight for all the Heavens and the Earth. And y’know for all the talk of omnipotence of our ‘Almighty Creator’, there was an awful lotta outsourcing for the less-intricate bits. Land masses, major animal kingdom n’ humans, yeah, God had full oversight, but d’you really think the Ineffable One bothered with every subspecies of plant, or insects? There are more than twelve  _ thousand _ species of ants alone, for chrissake. Bloody waste of time, if you ask me, but I s’pose that’s what malakhim are for.”

“And you… you did the Heavens?”

Having finished secreting the pages of celestial bodies away, Crowley had taken to pacing around the room, circling the desk like a caged animal.

“Well not  _ The _ Heavens, of course, that was already there, s’far as I can remember, but stars and nebulae and whatnot. All that space stuff the humans are so eager to discover, if they can only get off the ruddy Earth. Shame, really, given how much time n’ effort everyone put into  _ this _ planet, but that’s humans for you. Never content with what they’ve got.”

“And what about you? Are you content with what you’ve got?”

Crowley stopped his circuit and looked at him, long and hard, and Aziraphale felt as though he were staring into the centre of his immortal soul.

“S’pose if I’d’ve been the content sort, I never would’ve become… well.” He spread his hands as if to encompass his entire being, the whole of human history. “And you, Angel? Didn’t seem too eager to return to the eternal, monotonousss blisssss of Heaven.”

“I… well, you know, I’ve grown rather fond of this place. One might say attached. But as far as my life here on earth goes, yes, I believe I am content.”

Crowley stared at him for another long moment, during which Aziraphale became unaccountably aware of his own heartbeat. This was a particularly unusual sensation, as his corporeal biorhythms were typically undetectable, and moreover, completely unnecessary.

“Must be nice,” Crowley sighed, almost wistfully.

This time, it was Aziraphale who had to look away. The conversation had taken on an air of weighty portent that he wasn’t equipped to handle. After what they’d been through that day, it was all a bit too much. Lord, but he was exhausted. He eyed the ostentatious throne, and felt a pang of longing for his cosy armchair with the cushion tucked behind him just so. 

“Do you have any, uh, other furniture?” he asked in a tone that he hoped wasn’t horribly rude. “It’s just when you said I might stay the night, I thought perhaps…” 

Crowley snapped his fingers as if recalling a long-forgotten scrap of history.

“Yes! Bed! I’ve got one.” He spun around. “Just through here.” And he was off again, calling over his shoulder, “Bring the booze!”

Aziraphale could only shake his head fondly and comply. He did feel slightly self-conscious walking around a demon’s lair with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a nearly full tumbler in the other, but he assuaged his nerves with a quick sip from the glass, and was immensely proud that his eyes merely watered this time. He was really getting the hang of the thing, and rewarded himself with another fiery mouthful. The burn wasn’t so bad, once you got used to it, and the warmth spreading out from his chest and tingling in his fingers and toes was actually quite pleasant. 

“Coming, Angel?” came a bellow down the next poorly-lit hall, and Aziraphale hurried to catch up. He ran smack dab into another statue, nearly toppling it over. Only by the grace of God[2] did the winged sculpture teeter and right itself, with the nominal assistance of Aziraphale’s outstretched arms. 

“What in Lucifer’s name is taking you—”

Crowley stopped short at the sight of Aziraphale, hands still full of liquor and arms wrapped around the large stone bird. 

“Am I interrupting something?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Aziraphale felt the heat spread from where it’d been warm and comfortable in his belly up to his face.

“Er, no, sorry, I just—didn’t see the—” He paused, tilting his head to examine the sculpture in his arms. “This…” Something twigged in his subconscious, some distant, fleeting image. He knew this bird. 

“This… this is…” He squinted, and there was an explosion, clearing smoke, and the brush of fingertips as a valise exchanged hands. He released the statue and turned to fully face Crowley. “The Blitz. The church. This is—”

Crowley snatched the bottle from his hand and took a swig.

“S’nothing. Forget about it.” 

“I could never forget that, Crowley.” He took a step closer, the liquor rushing through his veins making him unaccountably brave. “We could live another six thousand years and I would remember every second of that night.”

Crowley stared at him, face unreadable behind those infernal glasses. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“So would I.”

The moment spun out between them, weaving together the days, years, millennia spanning their acquaintance with the fragile tendrils of aching loneliness and longing that had always been there, tethering them to one another.  _ There is no one else in the universe who knows me like him, _ Aziraphale realised, and there was no one else he wanted to know him like this. For better or for worse, they were in this together. 

Crowley tipped his head to the side.

“Bed?” 

Aziraphale nodded mutely, and followed.

The room was smaller than he’d expected, most of it taken up by the enormous bed. Was there something larger than king-sized beds? Deluxe super king? Whatever it was, Crowley had it. 

“Sorry, just have the one bed. Wasn’t really ever expecting to host, you know, company.” The demon chugged another pull of Glenlivet. “S’pose we could miracle a second bed. Or split this into two.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself on my account. This will be just fine. And anyway, I’m not sure either of us should be performing any more miraculous feats today.” He stared at the amber liquid swirling in his glass. “I have a feeling my side’s none to pleased as it is.”

“Mine’s fucking furious.”

There was a silence in which Aziraphale tried very hard not to think about what this would mean for them both. He distracted himself by taking a large gulp of Scotch, then walking over to the bedside table to set down the glass. 

“Really? Black satin sheets?”

“What?”

“A bit cliché, isn’t it?”

“It’s called classic taste, Angel,” Crowley shot back defensively. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” He tipped his sunglasses down so he could glare more convincingly at Aziraphale’s outfit with clear disdain. Aziraphale pretended not to notice.

“Like some dark prince of the night,” he teased. “I’m surprised you don’t sleep in a coffin, to complete the look.”

“Haha. So I’m a demon. Get over it already.” He prowled closer to Aziraphale, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “Hell’s not like this, you know. It’s not all black satin and velvet thrones or whatever rubbish they put in sexy gothic films. It’s cramped and it’s dirty and it smells, everything smells, and the lighting’s shit and it’s just… horrid.” He was in Aziraphale’s space now, panting and slightly manic.

“Well. I didn’t suppose it’d be pleasant.”

“You have no idea, Angel.” Crowley deflated slightly. “Lucky you.”

Aziraphale had no idea how to respond.

“They’re going to come for us. You know they are.” He had never heard his companion sound so defeated. He didn’t want to think about what possibilities Hell might have in store for his demon, but he couldn’t deny the truth in what he said. A horrible thought occurred to him.

“Oh dear, this… this very well may be our last night together.”

Crowley barked a hollow laugh and slammed the bottle down next to the tumbler. 

“This may be our last night, period. I don’t know about your lot, but my side’s not very forgiving.”

“No. Mine isn’t either, come to that. For all the ‘turn the other cheek’ rhetoric, they do know how to hold a grudge.”

Crowley leaned in, gaze suddenly intent. Gold-wreathed pupils stared at him over the rim of dark glasses.

“If this were it, if this were really your last night, on Earth or Heaven or any plane of existence, what would you do?” Aziraphale’s breath caught as Crowley swayed towards him, as if drawn nearer by an outside force. “I know what I’d do.” Those slitted eyes darted down to Aziraphale’s lips, which were suddenly dry.

“What would you do?” he breathed, equal parts excited and terrified.

“Well, that depends entirely on you.” They were so close now their noses almost touched. Crowley’s eyes were ablaze, burning with something that Aziraphale could feel deep in his gut. He could taste the demon’s hot breath curling in the air between them, mingling with his own stuttered exhalations. He was breathing Crowley into his lungs, and Crowley was breathing him in turn. 

And just like that, he surrendered. 

He stopped fighting the pointless, hopeless fight against his own desires, and surged up to meet Crowley’s lips. 

If he'd thought this would shock the demon into stillness or hesitation, he was swiftly proven wrong, as Crowley immediately wrapped himself around Aziraphale. His tongue plunged into his mouth, his hands fisted tight into his suit jacket, nails digging into his back. It was rough and desperate and exactly what Aziraphale needed. For his part, he clung to Crowley like a life raft, drinking in whatever sustenance his hungry mouth could offer. This was nothing like the chaste cheek kisses that had become fashionable again on the Continent in the last century, nor akin to the brief brushes of lips shared at the Hundred Guineas Club[3] or in the custom of Ancient Rome, all those years ago. Every fibre of his being was suffused with want, a furious need to get closer, to crawl inside the demon’s body, slip under his skin.

He broke away with a gasp.

“More! I need—” He scrabbled at Crowley’s jacket, uncertain exactly what it was he needed, though surely it lay somewhere beneath all those pointless layers of black cloth.

“Fucking Hell, Angel.” Crowley’s eyes were blown wide, half-stunned and fully aroused. 

“Too much?” he asked, suddenly unsure. He couldn't explain or even name all the feelings coursing through his body, but he recognised they were not befitting a heavenly being.

“No, it's perfect,  _ you're _ perfect.” Crowley cupped his face with his large hands and drew him into another deep and thorough kiss. “Just never expected you to respond so eagerly. S’a nice surprise.”

“Well, it seems to me we've waited more than long enough.” He broke their embrace to ease the suit jacket from Crowley’s shoulders, letting it fall to the ground at his feet. “I'm tired, my dear, oh so tired of resisting and denying, tired of considering what's proper or right, weighing the moral implications of every action great and small. It's exhausting.” His fingers had found the buttons of Crowley's waistcoat and were rapidly working them free. “If… if tonight is all we have, I just… want you, Crowley. I want you, wholly and fully, in whatever ways you'll allow me to have you.”

“All ways, Angel, you can have anything. Everything. I'm yours.” Crowley's thumbs were stroking his cheeks, willing Aziraphale to meet his gaze. “Always have been.” 

An unexpected wave of emotion crested over them both, throwing them back into each other's arms. Aziraphale pressed his face against the long bare stretch of Crowley's neck and simply breathed in the scent of him. To be allowed to touch, to taste, after enduring so many lifetimes without—to realise that this had always been there for the taking, if only he hadn't been so afraid—it was overwhelming in its magnitude, this sense of loss for things they'd never have. Late nights curled up together on his sofa, quietly reading as Crowley dozed at his side. Long, lazy mornings with lavish breakfasts that drifted into brunch, and then back into bed. Afternoon strolls through St. James’s, arm in arm or hand in hand, just like any other couple out for a walk. He ached with nostalgia for things that never were, and now could never be. God, they'd wasted so much time.

There was a wet snuffle on his shoulder, and should he look he suspected he'd see glassy eyes behind those dark shades. 

Right. No more nights left to waste. No regrets. No time like the present.

He opened his mouth against the hot skin of Crowley's throat, and licked along his pulsing carotid. It was salty and sweet, with a hint of scorched earth. He took another taste. Salted burnt caramel drizzle. Dark roasted Arabica beans robed in bitter chocolate and fleur-de-sel. Sparkling ambrosia singed by hellfire.

Crowley’s sniffs have turned to shallow huffs, the rapid rise and fall of his chest under Aziraphale’s touch reflecting the shift in mood. Aziraphale tugged the deep vee of black shirt aside to lick along his collarbone, and Crowley growled low in his throat, vibrating beneath Aziraphale’s lips. Satisfaction rippled through him, and he laved the jutting ridge again, this time nipping at the junction of bone and muscle, which elicited a breathy curse from the demon.

“Where on earth didja learn to do that? And you’d better not say that Byron bloke or I swear to Satan—”

Aziraphale chuckled against his skin.

“Of course not, my dear, I would never! I may not be as familiar with sins of the flesh as your cohorts, but I’m not entirely naïve. I grasp the basic thrust of the thing,” he teased, tilting his hips against Crowley’s. “If you’ll excuse the pun.” The demon’s answering groan was more excited than exasperated, so Aziraphale took that as permission to repeat the action, to equally gratifying effect. “I’m just following instinct, if angels can have such a thing in this arena. I wanted to taste you, so I did. I must say you proved to be even more delicious than I’d imagined.”

“You—fuck!” Crowley bucked against him as Aziraphale lapped at the divot where those two tantalising collarbones met. “You’d imagined?” he managed to gasp out.

“Tried not to, if I’m honest, but thoughts have a way of creeping in unbidden, don’t they?” 

The demon grunted in assent. His hands were now clawing at Aziraphale’s waistcoat, apparently having given up on even attempting to undo it the proper way. 

“Easy there,” he soothed. “I’ve worked hard to maintain this ensemble for many years, as you well know, and I won’t have you ripping it to shreds simply because you can’t exercise a little patience.” 

“Don’t see why you need so many damn layers,” Crowley groused, fingers migrating to Aziraphale’s throat to work at his bowtie.

“Jacket, waistcoat, shirt, tie—I do believe I’ve just as many layers as you, my dear.” 

Crowley scoffed.

“S’totally different. Mine are stylish and sexy, meant evoke an air of perpetually tempting  _ deshabille. _ Yours are just stuffy. Why’s everything gotta be done up so tight? Like a bloody prison.” 

Aziraphale slid his hands down and around the demon’s long, lithe torso.

“You’re one to talk about overly tight garments.” He tucked his hands into Crowley’s back pockets, and  _ Christ _ wasn’t it lovely to squeeze that delectable arse at long last!

Crowley fumbled with the bowtie and he swore again.

“What purpose does this ridiculous scrap of cloth serve? S’not fashion, can tell you that much. Don’t think tartan was ever  _ in _ fashion, not even two hundred years ago, and certainly not whenever you acquired this monstrosity, which I know was in the twentieth century, and which, for the record, we’re nearly twenty years past, in case you’d stopped keeping track some time back in the nineteen fifties, as your offensssively outdated attire implies.” Somewhere during this tirade he’d abandoned the bowtie as a lost cause and had moved on to his gabardine overcoat as the easiest target for his frenetic assault. He threw the coat from Aziraphale’s shoulders with a single sweep of his hands, then grimaced in disgust. “Ugh, and your waistcoat is  _ decades _ past its retirement years, it’s practically falling apart. Look at those shabby worn bits at the edges. I bet you magicked the seams!” 

Aziraphale could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, embarrassment and indignance warring for supremacy. He settled for self-conscious annoyance. 

“I’ll have you know that every stitch of this cloth garment was fashioned by hand, which is more than I can say of your unearthly getup. At least I make an effort to maintain this pretence of a mortal coil with real, honest-to-goodness manmade clothing!”

At this point they were both yelling, a good foot of space between them. Crowley shook his head, and with a wave of his hand, Aziraphale suddenly found himself completely naked. It was with great effort that he resisted the urge to cover himself, though he felt the blush spreading down his neck and across his chest in sympathy. Betrayed by his biology, how unbearably human. Crowley’s gaze raked over him, as real and steady as a physical caress, and without any conscious agreement or permission on his part, his cock rose to meet it. Crowley’s eyes immediately locked on the movement, one eyebrow lifting as if pulled upwards by the same force. 

“Oh, shush! This is all your fault,” Aziraphale hurried to excuse, hoping to head off whatever snarky comments that devilish smirk promised to deliver. “And moreover, what in Heaven did you do with my clothes?” He thrust an accusatory finger at Crowley’s chest, praying that it would adequately distract from whatever was happening between his legs. 

The demon merely wrapped his long fingers around Aziraphale’s outstretched digit and brought it up to press a gentle kiss to its tip.

“Relax, Angel. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. So to speak.” He chuckled at Aziraphale’s glare. “I didn’t harm your precious rags. They’re over there.” He nodded to the far wall, where Aziraphale could indeed see his clothes, safe and composed in a neatly folded stack. 

“Well, good then. Consider yourself lucky you don’t have to face my wrath.”

“Oh, I do.” A wicked grin crept over the demon’s face. “I consider myself  _ very _ lucky.” Crowley winked, and Aziraphale found his finger engulfed in wet heat. He couldn’t be certain what happened next, as his vision went a smidge hazy and his knees entirely weak, but he soon found himself sitting on black satin with a steady hand cupping his cheek. 

“All right there, Angel?” His friend sounded so concerned, and something buried deep inside him twanged in tune. He nodded into Crowley’s palm. 

“You caught me off guard, dear boy, that’s all. I hadn’t been expecting so… visceral a response.”

Gentle laughter from above him.

“Tell me about it! It’s these damned mortal bodies. No way of knowing what they’ll do next.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him, feeling some of his confidence return.

“I, for one, look forward to finding out.”

He resumed his too-long-abandoned task of disrobing his companion, finishing the waistcoat and starting in on the shirt beneath. Fortunately, Crowley had made his job much easier by only doing up half the buttons to begin with, but apparently even this was too much for the demon’s short attention span.

“You do know they aren’t  _ real, _ yeah? I can just—” He raised a hand to dispel the lot of them, but Aziraphale caught it and shook his head. 

“Please, let me. I want to. I… well, frankly my dear, I’ve wanted to do this for ages, and if you rob me of the pleasure, I may never forgive you!”

Crowley’s face softened and he dropped his hand. 

“Sure, Angel. Whatever you want.”

God Almighty, did he want.

Aziraphale took his time, revealing each new inch of skin with care and attention, and if his fingers trembled as he reached the last button, well, chalk it up to the anticipation. He spread the plackets of the shirt like dark wings, baring the preternaturally narrow waist of the demon, which perfectly tapered into those sinfully tight denims. Good Lord. Aziraphale’s mouth watered, as if presented with a five course spread at a Michelin restaurant. He swayed forward, nose tracing the tempting line of dark hair that disappeared below the waistband, inhaling deeply. Down here, Crowley smelled of rich fertile earth, of sweet sweat and hot sunbaked afternoons and bonfire crackle at midnight under a starlit sky. He smelled of ancient mysteries unravelling, ineffable truths becoming known at long last.

Without conscious thought on his part, Aziraphale’s tongue followed the same path back up, from coarse tickling hair to flat, smooth abdominals that twitched under his touch. He tasted each line of muscle, curve of ribs and jut of hip, as Crowley hissed above him. His hands had found their way to Crowley’s arse, squeezing with a mind of their own. The demon’s hips were responding with sinuous gyrations that stirred the heat between Aziraphale’s legs to an insistent pulse. So this was what it was to want. How had he inhabited this earthly form for so long, and never felt this most basic of base instinct? 

_ Because Angels don’t sully themselves with base matter, _ Gabriel’s supercilious voice chided in his head. But that ship had sailed for Aziraphale long ago. He’d taken pleasure in the flesh, in food and wine and creature comforts. So why did this last forbidden bastion of pleasure feel so different, so momentous? 

Crowley bucked forward, the snakehead of his belt tapping Aziraphale’s chin, and suddenly Aziraphale needed to get him out of these confining clothes, remove all barriers between them. He tore the shirt from his arms and quickly unbuckled the belt, pulling it from the loops with a slick, satisfying whoosh. He tossed it across the room, and Crowley’s eyebrows jumped a good two inches.

“Christ, you—” and then he bit down on any more blasphemous curses as Aziraphale’s fingers went to work unfastening his flies. Aziraphale tried to yank the trousers down, but they were so bloody tight, they barely budged.

“Careful, sensitive equipment down there,” Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale huffed in exasperation. 

“Perhaps if you wore clothing that actually fit you, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He tugged the waistband a few millimetres lower. “Honestly, how can a being this skinny have trousers two sizes too small?”

“Not all of us have to be trapped in the nineteenth century, Angel. It is possible to keep up with modern fashion.” He waved a hand down his body with a grandiose flourish. “Besides, you love it. Shows off my best assssssets.”

Aziraphale linked his fingers in splayed belt loops and pulled the demon into his lap. He tugged lightly on Crowley’s tie to bring him even closer.

“I think you’re underestimating the appeal of other body parts.”

“Oh?” The flirty quirk of Crowley’s lips spread into a lascivious grin.

Aziraphale reached up to remove those infernal sunglasses, then sent them skittering across the floor.

“Very much so.” He brought his hands up to stroke those sharp cheekbones, thumbs caressing the sunken hollows below, eyes never leaving that glittering golden stare. “You are breathtaking, my dear. Never could look away.” They held one another’s gaze for a long, heated moment, then their lips were on the other’s, and Aziraphale could scarcely tell where his tongue ended and Crowley’s began. Their hands roved wildly over naked flesh, and somewhere along the way a flicked finger banished Crowley’s remaining coverings to join Aziraphale’s neat stack in the corner. For the life of him, Aziraphale didn’t know which one of them had done the simple magic. Possibly it was a joint effort. 

Crowley straddled his lap, legs wrapped tight around his back, thighs rhythmically squeezing as he writhed against him.  _ You great bloody boa constrictor, _ he thought affectionately. 

“Want you,” the demon panted into his mouth.

“You have me.” It had the ring of a solemn vow, and Aziraphale stared deep, deep into those sparkling supernova eyes. “Body and soul.” 

Crowley’s pupils did a funny thing, widening impossibly round, and he inhaled sharply. Then he locked his ankles and rolled, and Aziraphale found himself flipped above, Crowley sprawled out beneath him. 

“Like this.” He probably meant it as a haughty command, but it came out a plea. 

Aziraphale was knelt between his spread thighs, and it was suddenly glaringly obvious how naked they were in this moment, not in lack of clothing but lack of pretence. Need and emotion at last laid bare, and vulnerable and honest and true. They had never been so fully, unashamedly themselves.

Aziraphale bracketed Crowley’s head with his hands, suspending himself over the demon’s outstretched form.[4]

“Like this?” he asked.

Crowley just swallowed and nodded up at him, expression open and sincere, but with the hint of a sinful curve to his lips that sent heat coursing through Aziraphale’s body. Lord, he looked so damn beautiful spread out below him, wriggling slightly against the silky black sheets. How did it feel against his bare skin? 

He rolled his hips slowly, emulating the demon’s serpentine gyrations, and Crowley moaned wantonly.[5] He did it again, his own voice joining Crowley’s in appreciation. All that hot flesh pressed against his own felt better than anything had a right to, but he supposed that was why this was a sin of pleasure. 

He sat back on his heels to better admire the gorgeous creature writhing beneath him. So long and lean and sinuous, an echo of his other form. He ran his hands down the broad expanse of Crowley’s chest, tracing firm pectorals and reddened nipples. The noises he was making! Like a heavenly choir to Aziraphale’s ear. His fingers skittered over ribs, wrapped around that narrow waist, thumbs stroking hip bones. His gaze followed his hands, admiring, until it landed on his own belly. Suddenly he was very conscious of how naked he was, and felt the ridiculous urge to cover up rise again. His hands stilled. 

Crowley’s hands, which had been gripping Aziraphale’s hips and kneading his buttocks, also stilled. 

“What’s wrong, Angel?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong.”

“Look, I know this is all kinda fast for you. I thought you were enjoying yourself, but if you want to stop—”

“No! It’s not that. Never mind me, it’s silly. I want this. I want you.”

“But…? You can tell me, Aziraphale. I’ve put up with you for six thousand years, you’re my closest—well, only, friend. I know when something’s wrong, and I’d rather know what it is than let it fester for the rest of our lives. Which, admittedly, is probably a lot shorter than I’d planned, but at any rate. No secrets between us, Angel. Not any more.”

Aziraphale’s stomach gave an odd flutter at that. 

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just—” He ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly tousling it into a puffy white halo. “—you, looking like that.” He indicated the whole of Crowley’s naked body with the wave of a hand.

“Like what?”

“Like… like sex on two legs!”

Crowley flashed him a devilish grin, clearly pleased with the analogy.

“And I look like this.” Aziraphale gestured helplessly to his own body. “I just—you could seduce just about any being, mortal or otherwise, and I… I don’t understand why you’d want your last shag to be with me.”

“God, you really don’t know.”

And it was a testament to his rattled state that Aziraphale didn’t chastise him for taking the Lord’s name in vain.

Crowley slid his hands up Aziraphale’s body slowly, reverently.

“You’re beautiful. From the moment I first laid eyes on you in the garden, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You’re… radiant, and I’m not just saying that because you’re an angel. Trust me, used to be one, they’re a surprisingly bland lot. Michael’s got resting bitch face and don’t even get me started on Sandalphon. But you. The way your entire face lights up when you smile. The effervescent spark of foolish joy in your eyes. It’s infectious, Angel.” One hand had worked its way up to Aziraphale’s jaw, and was now cupping his face, so, so gently. “I don’t know how anyone can look at you and not fall a little in love with you.”

“Love?” Aziraphale’s mouth was suddenly dry.

“Are you kidding? Of course I love you. What did you think this is?”

“I— lust mainly, on your part. Obviously love on mine, being an angel, but I didn’t realise you…” 

“Loved you?”

“Could. Being a demon and all.”

“You are such an idiot sometimes, Angel.” He was shaking his head fondly. Aziraphale dropped back down, covering Crowley’s body with his own, their faces inches away.

“Say it again.”

Crowley smiled, wide and sincere.

“I love you.”

Aziraphale crashed his mouth against Crowley’s, teeth bruising lips and tongues seeking, seeking. Consuming. Aziraphale wanted to consume him, devour his body and heart and soul and absorb it into his own, and he wanted the same from Crowley in return. To be taken, inhabited. Was this why so many humans enjoyed inserting parts of themselves into each other and having another’s parts inside them? For the first time, Aziraphale could see the appeal. He wanted it all, and he wanted to get closer, closer, every inch of his skin aligned with Crowley’s, as many molecules in contact as possible, swapping electrons at random.

Their hands roamed and clutched and grasped, until Crowley slid his up Aziraphale’s arms, guiding their hands together to pin above Crowley’s head. Aziraphale pressed Crowley’s hands into the mattress, and Crowley moaned into his mouth. It was delicious, and Aziraphale suspected he could easily get addicted to the taste. Another vice the demon inspired in him. Though this, what they were doing with their bodies, Aziraphale couldn’t believe this was the sin it was purported to be. Could a manifestation of love truly be wrong? If Heaven had got so much wrong in the past, why not this?

They were rocking against each other in frantic undulations, Crowley rising to meet every thrust, but still it wasn’t enough. Aziraphale pulled away with a gasp.

“Just a moment, I need to—” He closed his eyes and gave a shake, and in the ethereal plane, his wings unfurled behind him. He sighed. “Ah, that’s better.” He grinned down at Crowley. “Now I can get some proper leverage.”

The demon was staring up at him with equal parts awe and arousal. 

“Fuck, Angel, that was—”

And then Aziraphale was beating his wings in time with his thrusts, and whatever Crowley was going to say was swallowed up in a sound of exquisite pleasure that made Azairaphale’s toes curl. 

“Oh, please darling, make that noise again.”

And Crowley did, back arching off the bed, his own dark wings spreading out beneath him, pulsing him higher, higher, into Aziraphale. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, every line of his throat in taut relief. 

“That’s it love, you’re so beautiful like this.”

Crowley lifted his head, and the look he gave Aziraphale was so open and vulnerable, and Aziraphale could see with blinding clarity the angel in him, the being of light that was still there, shining through. 

Crowley mouthed the word  _ love _ , and then his eyes went wide and Aziraphale’s vision was sparking at the edges, blurring, going white. Pleasure shot through his body, his soul, zinging down his spine and crackling out his wingtips, each feather vibrating with the shockwave. And for a blinding, endless moment, he  _ was  _ pleasure, pure energy unleashed. The whole of existence fell away, and all was white hot joy. 

He came back to himself slowly, his untethered consciousness slowly reeling back into earthly form, sensation rising to the surface again. Somehow in the tussle, he’d ended up on his back, pressed against cool, silky sheets. Lazily, he opened his eyes, blinking them clear to gaze up into… blue eyes?

Fuck.

“Oh dear Lord. Crowley, what did you do?”

“Don’t look at me, Angel.” 

But Aziraphale did look, only it wasn’t Crowley’s face staring back at him, brow arched in wry amusement, but his own. 

“This isn’t funny.”

“Never said it was.”

A smirk played at the edges of those lips, one that Aziraphale was certain had never graced them when they’d been under his control. 

“I’m serious, Crowley! What in Heaven is going on?”

The demon shrugged his shoulders and rolled off to the side with a graceful shimmy that Aziraphale had not believed his own body capable of, but there it was. 

“Enough weird shite has happened today that I reckon this is par for the course.” He propped his head up on his elbow and gave Aziraphale a wicked grin that was mildly unsettling stretched across that angelic countenance. “S’pose it must be part of that… oh what was it?” He tilted his head to the side in mock consideration. “Ah yes, that  _ ineffable _ plan.”

Aziraphale huffed.

“Six thousand years and suddenly you’re a believer.”

“What can I say, Angel, I’ve seen the light.” His smile melted into something softer, and Aziraphale’s heartbeat faltered. 

“Tease all you like, my dear, but this is rather inconvenient, at the very least.”

“Oh I dunno, it might have its benefits.” Crowley ran his hand up and down the soft curves of his new body and hummed. “I could get used to this.”

“You dirty old serpent!” Aziraphale could feel the blush rise to his cheeks, and prayed the sun-kissed bronze would hide it better than his fair skin had. From the wink Crowley gave him, it didn’t. “I won’t have you taking liberties with my body! At least, not without me in it.” He frowned, not sure why that should make such a difference, but it did.

“Fine, fine. Your virtue is safe with me.” Crowley flopped back on the bed and stretched, twisting his spine this way and that. “Doesn’t feel half bad though.”

Aziraphale wiggled his fingers and toes, much longer than his own. It was an interesting sensation. He tried it with his arms and legs. 

“I wonder… do you think I could do that thing you used to do?”

Crowley glanced over at him writhing against the silk sheets.

“What, dance?”

“No, I know—wait, you used to dance?” His gaze flitted to the demon’s hips, which were canted off the mattress in a sensual stretch. “Of course you did.”

Crowley rolled his hips mid-air, then slowly undulated his spine to settle back into the mattress with a satisfied hum. A body really shouldn’t be allowed to move like that, certainly  _ his _ never had before, but it brought Aziraphale back to his point.

“No, that other thing. Turning into a serpent. I’m sure it’s delightful to be all wriggly.” He tested it out against the silky sheets, and already it felt so good. “What do you do, then, just sort of… think like a snake?” He shut his eyes tight in concentration.

“No, stop! Focus!” Fingers snapped close to his face and he blinked open to glare at Crowley, who glared back.[6] “You are not going to attempt shapeshifting in my body, d’you hear me? What if you can’t change back, hm? No, we need to figure out what happened, and see if we can undo it.”

Aziraphale squinted up at the ceiling.

“Well, I suppose we should take into consideration the fact that I wasn’t in my own body a large chunk of the past day.”

“True.”

“In fact, I was both entirely ethereal and inhabiting another’s body in the course of one day, then suddenly thrust into that new body, which is just like my old body except perhaps… slightly different? Technically it was created by another’s hand, not Heaven’s, which is a bit—” He shivered. “—odd. What I’m trying to say is, what if I wasn’t very well tethered? To my new corporeal form?”

“Sure, that could explain you, but what about me? Why aren’t we both inhabiting my body like you were in that woman?”

“Madame Tracy. Such a sweet woman, I think you’d like her. Didn’t want to kill that boy, and quite right in the end.”

“Focus.”

“Yes, love.” He stared at the ceiling some more. “There is your little demonic miracle. When you stopped time and we popped over to the ethereal realm for a short pep talk with our godson—our second godson, that is. We shifted out of the material plane, and when we both manifested our wings while making love, we were in that same state again. Perhaps we swept ourselves out of… ourselves?”

“Brilliant, Angel!” Crowley leaned in close to him. “So we just do that again and we’ll be right as rain.” His lips were almost at his cheek when Aziraphale sat up suddenly, leaving Crowley to kiss empty air.

“Wait!” 

“What, you want to take it slow again? That’s fine, I can wait.” He thumbed at one of his own pink nipples. Aziraphale shook his head.

“What if, for once, this is part of an  _ effable  _ plan?”

Crowley snaked a hand over to squeeze Aziraphale’s waist. “Oh, I have a very eff-able plan.” Aziraphale swatted him away.

“No, the prophecy! Agnes Nutter! The woman, to my knowledge, was never wrong. When all is said and all is done, you must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough you will be playing with fire—it’s the solution, it’s what we’re meant to do. Think, what would certainly, instantly, and definitively kill a demon?”

“Holy water.”

“Precisely! And for an angel, hellfire. Playing with  _ fire.  _ Do you see?”

“Christ, when she said choose your faces wisely, I thought she meant, I dunno, do some celestial plastic surgery. Dye our hair. Go undercover with the humans. Not—” He waved a hand between them, then dropped it on his chest like it was all too much effort. Aziraphale supposed it was rather late, and it had been a trying day, particularly for Crowley,[7] and they’d just had spectacular orgasms so intense they’d apparently switched bodies. It probably was a lot to process.

“So what,” the demon drawled. “You want us to stay swapped?”

“It seems the prudent thing to do. Given the prophecy.”

“Prudent, right. Exactly. So no more sex until our respective sides try to off us? You really elevate the joys of abstinence to a new level, Angel.”

“You can’t possibly want to have sex with your own body—wait. Of course you can.”

Crowley gave a flirty wink. 

“It’s not  _ purely _ vanity. I mean, it is a bit, I would fuck clones of me, when the technology gets good enough.” His eyes glazed over at the prospect, before refocusing on Aziraphale. “But I’d rather fuck clones of you, of course.” As if that was meant to be reassuring. “Clone fucking aside, it’s more that you’d be in my body, sweetheart. That’s the really sexy part.”

Aziraphale tried to reconcile the fact that the first time Crowley called him ‘sweetheart’ was in the same breath as ‘clone fucking’, and couldn’t. 

“Well, sexy or not, we aren’t doing that until after we’ve faced the hellfire, or whatever trials await us, you perverted old snake.”

Crowley flickered his tongue out at him,[8] proving his point so succinctly that Aziraphale could only smile at the cheeky bastard. Crowley grinned back, but then faltered, a cloud passing behind his eyes.

“Wait. While I’m facing some poncy gits up in Heaven who’ve managed to conjure some hellfire to scare me with, you—you’d be—” His gaze went distant and cold.

“I’ll be fine, my dear. Holy water can’t hurt me.” Aziraphale patted his arm reassuringly, but Crowley flinched away.

“It’s not the holy water I’m worried about.” He looked up at Aziraphale, blue eyes glassy with fear. “You don’t know, Angel. It’s nothing, for me. I remember Heaven, I know Gabriel and Michael and the gang. They’re a bunch of arseholes but they’re civil, relatively speaking. There’s a code of conduct, you know, or at least an appearance of one. Probably some light banter, strongly worded chastisements, yadda yadda,[9] hellfire, poof. It’ll be fine.

“But you. You don’t know what it’s like down there. What Hell’s like. Tell me, before today, before Beelzebub popped their smelly little head above ground and tried to steal our second godson, had you ever seen another demon besides me?”

Aziraphale shook his head slowly.

“That’s what I thought. No other demon has dared to cross your path because since the beginning, since day fucking one, I’ve told them that you’re  _ my _ problem, that I’m the original sinner, the Serpent of Eden and the longest continuous inhabitant from Hell on Earth, and that I laid claim to you as my sworn enemy. So you’ve been spared the horrors of meeting other demons.” He shuddered. “Trust me, Beelzebub is one of the less repugnant denizens of Hell. S’why they’ve got ambassadorial privilege.” 

He sat up next to Aziraphale, eyes suddenly wild.

“You don’t know what they can do, Angel. What they’re capable of. Heaven can be cruel, but its justice is swift. They don’t prolong the inevitable. Demons were made for torture, for that slow, unbearable torment.”

Aziraphale ran his fingernails through soft, fluffy white hair.

“What about you, my dear? You’re a demon. But you’re not like that.”

Crowley looked up at him, eyes full of tears.

“Aren’t I? Six thousand years of pathetic pining, two million one hundred ninety-one thousand five hundred fifty-seven days of being hopelessly in love with an angel, fifty-two million five hundred ninety-seven thousand three hundred sixty-nine hours of incessant want, need, desire. Tell me that’s not torture.”

“Wasn’t entirely hopeless, was it?” He continued to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and he could feel the tension begin to leave his body.

“Sure, one night of incandescent pleasure after millennia of yearning, and then the sole object of your affection, the one bright light in your miserable existence, will be plucked from this earth by the powers of Hell and have Satan knows what done to him in your stead. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but it might’ve been easier if we’d never…” He trailed off, as if he didn’t actually want to invoke the possibility of this night not ending up in his bed.

“‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

“Don’t you start quoting Al at me. I fed him his best lines, you know.”[10]

Aziraphale patted his head.

“I know.” He gently pulled Crowley toward him, guiding his head to his shoulder and settling them both back against the pillows. “There now. That’s better.” He manoeuvred the sheets out from under Crowley’s legs and up over them both. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get some rest, and we can work things out in the morning.” Crowley looked like he wanted to protest, but then let out a jaw-cracking yawn and curled up into Aziraphale’s side.

“Fine, have it your way. But this isn’t through. If you think you’re going t’Hell tomorrow, you’ve got another think comin’.” Aziraphale suppressed a laugh at the demon’s curious turn of phrase. Crowley’s voice was already tapering off to a soft rasp, and in a few minutes his breaths had slowed into an even tide against his chest. With his free hand, Aziraphale snapped as quietly as he could manage, extinguishing the ambient light and casting the room into complete darkness. He didn’t usually sleep, but he thought that tonight, he might rest his eyes for a spell. 

~

He blinked awake a few hours later, in the cool grey light of early morn. Crowley was coiled around him,[11] snoring lightly—well, not snoring so much as hissing air through his teeth. It was soothing, a soft susurrus that might almost lull him back to sleep. Except that Aziraphale didn’t feel tired. He felt… something. Alive. And despite his conviction that Agnes’s prophecies were entirely nice and accurate, they still didn’t know the outcome. Crowley was right; there was quite a lot Hell could do before they resorted to holy water. But he wasn’t going to dwell on it, no, because if more than six thousand years on this earth had taught him anything, it was that worrying about an unknowable future rarely helped a situation. See what good it did them today? Spurred them into action, perhaps. But they will act, when the time comes. For a scant few more hours, they had this. The quiet stillness of waiting. 

He wasn’t going to waste a single, precious second.

He watched, silently, patiently, as the slow creep of dawn brightened his own familiar face, doing something he’d never seen it do before. One could not observe this act, and it was fascinating, because he could still  _ see _ Crowley in there, even in sleep. The way he snuggled in tighter any time Aziraphale shifted. The slight downturn of his lips and furrow of brow as he muttered something into Aziraphale’s chest. And he could feel it, in every point of contact. It was his demon’s touch, his oldest, dearest friend, his  _ beloved, _ who was holding him like was afraid he would disappear. Had he allowed himself a sliver of self-reflection, he might have recalled he had done that very thing earlier that day, which felt like aeons from this moment. 

But there was no part of him left for such thoughts, so wholly immersed was he in the act of holding, and being held by, his love. It was akin to being held in the light of God,[12] so all-consuming was the reverence. He might have stayed there, in awed gratitude and contentment forever,[13] had a particularly brilliant beam of sunlight not broken through the cosy blanket of clouds and hit Crowley in the eyes. The demon scrunched up his face and snuffled into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Put out the light.”

“I’m afraid that may be above my pay grade, dear.”

Crowley pulled another face and flapped a hand off the bed, gesturing vaguely.

“Get me my shades, then. S’too bright t’sleep.”

Aziraphale sighed. He hated to do this, but he knew it was for the best. It was their destiny, and much as he might want otherwise, they couldn’t keep it waiting. It would catch up with them, whether they were ready or not. 

He’d prefer they be ready. Or fully dressed, at the least.

“I—I’m sorry, but I think I’ll be the one wearing those today.”

Crowley squeezed him tighter.

“Not yet.”

“Oh my dear.” Aziraphale rubbed soothing circles into his back. “I am sorry. I don’t know when they’re going to come for us, and I’d rather not have them find us like this when they do.”

“Don’t know why it matters, at this point,” Crowley grumbled into his chest. “We’re already fucked, right? Might as well enjoy it.”

“I… well, I don’t very much fancy anyone else getting to see your unclothed body, if you must know.”

“Your body now, Angel.” Crowley propped his head on Aziraphale’s bony chest to raise an eyebrow at him. “Jealousss, are we?” 

Aziraphale tried not to blush.

“Oh no, I know: possessssssive.” Crowley flexed his nails into Aziraphale’s pectoral, and Aziraphale tried not to shudder too noticeably.

“Shut up.” He lightly slapped Crowley’s hand away. “And stop that. You will not tempt me astray.”

“Little too late for that, don’cha think? We could always do it twiccccce, so we can still carry out the plan.”

“We don’t fully understand how this all works. There’s no guarantee we would be able to inhabit each other’s bodies again.”

“Yes, yes. Fine. Just. Can we… do this? Just a little while longer?”

“You mean cuddle?”

Crowley wiggled in obvious discomfort.

“D’ya have to call it that?”

“No, dear.” He wrapped his arms around him and sighed. “A few more minutes, but then we must really get going. You shouldn’t be seen leaving from here, if we can help it.”

Crowley clutched onto him as if trying to imprint the sensation in his muscles and bone, and Aziraphale counted his breaths. And when the time came, he pressed a kiss to the crown of that fluffy white head, and gently extricated himself, easing Crowley’s limbs from his own. Crowley whined and burrowed under the covers. Aziraphale shook his head at his ridiculous demon. He stood and stretched, his new long limbs creaking and popping in entirely different places than his own. 

He eyed the pile of black clothing speculatively.  _ Oh well, here goes nothing. _

Due to his preference for willing his clothes out of the ether, Crowley did not have any dressers or wardrobes, but he did have a large full length mirror—gilded in real gold, because of course the vain creature did. Aziraphale walked over, trying out these new limbs. He was going to have to work on his gait; how _did_ Crowley move his hips like that? He bent to carefully riffle through the clothes. Denims, socks, shoes… 

“Crowley?”

A muffled noise came from the lump on the bed.

“Crowley, please. Dear. Where are your undergarments?”

Another inaudible response.

“I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t hear you.”

An extremely mussed head of white hair peeked out from the sheets.

“Don’t have ‘em.”

“What do you mean?”

Two shoulders shrugged up out of black silk.

“Don’t have ‘em, don’t wear ‘em, never bothered magicking them up.”

Aziraphale frowned. 

“Whyever not?”

“You’ve seen how tight my trousers are. You really think I want to worry about VPL?”

“Vee Pee Elle?”

“Visible pantyline. Not important. Anyway it’s not like I need an extra layer down there, I don’t always carry that thing around—” a hand emerged to wave at Aziraphale’s cock, “—so what’s the point? And when I do, s’not so bad.” A devilish glint crept into those baby blue eyes. “I don’t mind things a little rough, from time to time.”

Aziraphale felt himself flush, and willed his penis not to respond. Crowley was trying to rile him up, and he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Well, I’m not going to walk around with this—” he pointed down at Crowley’s lovely cock, while trying not to think about what a truly lovely cock it was, “—and nothing on beneath my clothes. It’s obscene.”

Crowley just waggled his eyebrows at him. Aziraphale rolled his eyes in return. With a snap, he was wearing a black spandex unitard in the style he used to see at the beaches a while back, and which he had always thought would look fetching on Crowley, should he ever deign to frequent a beach.

“There, that should be snug enough not to show up under your ridiculously tight clothing.” It was actually surprisingly comfortable.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale was distracted by his rear view in the mirror. It fit remarkably well, and somehow made Crowley’s tight arse look even more delectable than usual. 

“Of all the things you could’ve picked, I can honestly say this would never’ve crossed my mind. Though I s’pose it makes a certain amount of sense. Can’t decide if it’s vaguely kinky, in a you sorta way.” He clucked his tongue. “No complaints in the arse department.”

“Crowley!”

“Hey, you were looking too. Just sayin’ what we were both thinking.”

Aziraphale started pulling on his socks. 

“Well stop it, and come and get dressed. You’re the one who has to be leaving soon.”

Crowley groaned again, but stumbled to his feet, somehow managing to keep the silky sheet wrapped around him. He eyed Aziraphale’s clothes warily.

“Augh, do I have to?”

“Must keep up appearances. Do your trousers  _ really _ have to be this tight?” He’d managed to pull them up to his hips, but they’d hit an impasse in the form of the aforementioned shapely arse, and Aziraphale had resorted to tiny hops to help inch them higher, yanking in concert on the belt loops. Finally, they slipped up into place, and he sighed in relief. He carefully did up the fastenings, gaze drifting back to the mirror again. Crowley’s body, clad in spandex and these trousers, did make an arresting sight.

“You like what you see?” 

Crowley had sidled up behind him, and now eyed both their reflections with interest. Aziraphale couldn’t deny it, since at the moment he couldn’t seem to stop staring.

“It is rather a striking look.”

“Is that vanity, Angel?”

“I don’t know if it can be vanity if it’s not my own body.”

“Lussst, then.”

Aziraphale tried to ignore how obviously red his reflection was turning.

“Well, I’ll admit to that one. Though I’m afraid last night may have tipped my hand.”

“Mmm, indeed.”

He was so distracted by his own embarrassment that he didn’t notice Crowley leaning in for a kiss until it was almost too late. 

“No! I cannot do that with myself.”

Crowley shrugged.

“I dunno, could be kinda hot.”

“You’re depraved.”

“And you’re no fun.”

“And I told you, I don’t want to risk swapping back. We don’t know how this works. I mean, the way it happened last time… who’s to say it won’t work differently? Perhaps, since we’re already so loosely anchored to these new bodies, it could take something smaller, a kiss even, to undo it all. We simply don’t know.”

Crowley looked sceptical, but he moved out of kissing range, though still close enough for Aziraphale to feel his presence all along his back.

“Fine, fine, I won’t touch. But you can, if you want.”

“I told you, not interested.”

“No, not touch me. Touch yourself. In my body. Have you ever done that, Angel? Touched yourself, for pleasure?” 

“No, of course not! That—that’s a sin.” 

Damned if the idea didn’t appeal to him now though, in this sexy, sinewy form. God this body. He remembered how it felt under his hands, all hard muscles and sharp edges, so different from his own. Dangerous. Exciting.

“That didn’t stop you lassst night,” the demon hissed in his ear. “Go on, you know you want to. Feel my body under your hands.”

Crowley’s hands slipped around his waist to find Aziraphale’s, manoeuvre them with his own, slide them over that firm stomach, inching southward. Aziraphale could feel his unfamiliar body stirring in response, and suddenly these trousers were much tighter, something he’d hardly thought possible.

“Have  _ you  _ ever done this?” he managed to rasp out.

“Of course.”

Aziraphale squirmed.

“I can’t see how you managed in these undersized britches.”

“Britches? Did you just call designer denims  _ britches?  _ What century d’you think we’re in?” Storm cloud eyes glared at him in the mirror. “And for the record, I generally removed all clothing before getting too far along in the process. Makes no sense to keep ‘em on.” 

“Quite.” He tried to adjust himself discreetly, but Crowley was  _ right there, _ hands still resting over his own, watching every movement like a hawk. He needed a distraction. “And… how was it? When you, you know.” 

“Fun at first. A quick high.” His fingertips were tracing lightly over the backs of Aziraphale’s hands, and Aziraphale had the fleeting thought that his hands were a lot softer than he’d realised. They felt… different, when he wasn’t the one controlling them. “Nothing like last night, but not a bad way to spend an evening. Novelty wears off after a while. Only so far a fantasy can take you.”

He thought of it, Crowley lying on his bed, pleasuring himself as he made those delicious noises.

“What sort of fantasies?” he found himself asking. 

His own face blushed at him in the mirror and looked away.

“Not sure you want to know, Angel.”

_ Ah. _

Demon stuff, right. 

“Bit, ahem, dark?” he tried.

“No, nothing like that. Just. Things I wanted to do. Uh, with you. To you. Things I wanted you to do to me. Things like last night.” That cherubic face was now scarlet.

“Oh, that’s… nice. I mean last night was lovely. Glorious, really. Well, you know, you were there.” 

“You don’t mind?” Crowley flicked his gaze back to the mirror, examining Aziraphale’s reaction.

“Why should I mind? You fantasised about sharing pleasure with me, which in turn brought pleasure to you. It’s rather flattering.”

“Shit Angel, if I’d known you’d find it flattering I wouldn’t’ve felt half so guilty each time. Then again, could’ve been part of the appeal. Forbidden fruit.” He winked at Aziraphale.

“You old serpent.” He stuck his tongue out at his reflection, and found that this tongue came out much farther than his own. He flicked it up and down experimentally, and caught a wicked gleam in Crowley’s newly blue eyes that was entirely too familiar. “Don’t start with that again.” 

“S’pose I’ll never know what I’m missing, but the things that tongue can do…” He shivered. “Wouldn’t mind feeling for myself.”

“Let’s try to get out of this alive first. Then we can discuss your prurient interest in your own body.”

“Yes, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou.”

“I am, in fact, holier than thou.”

“You sure about that?” Crowley slid their joined hands over the bulge still pressing at Aziraphale’s flies. Aziraphale bit back a moan and shook him off. 

“I’d better be, or this whole plan is a bust.”

“Mmm.” The demon was eyeing himself in the mirror, pursing his lips and turning this way and that. The sheet had slipped from his shoulders, black silk spilling gracefully from his body like an evening gown. “No reason I can’t enjoy this body while I have it, just because you’re a stick in the mud.” With a fluid shimmy, he let the sheet fall from his body and pool at his feet. He ran his hands up and down his chest, fingertips rubbing over nipples. “Ooh, you like that.” He gave one a tweak and grinned. “A lot.”

“Stop that! I won’t have you sullying my body with self-manipulation. It’s vulgar.”

“It’s no different from what we did last night.”

“It is! You—it’s my body and I won’t allow you to abuse it.”

“Just giving it pleasure, that’s all. Nothing wrong with a little self-love.” But his hands stilled. “You should try it sometime.” Those words were unexpectedly laden with something serious.

“Maybe—perhaps after.” 

“If there is an after.”

Their eyes met again, emotion wordlessly passing between them. The playful tone had shifted, and Aziraphale nodded solemnly. 

“There will be,” he vowed. There had to be. 

He broke the silence that followed by picking up the shirt from where he’d dropped it the night before, buttoning it quickly and efficiently.

“Now where did that darn belt get to?” 

“I believe you flung it across the room.”

“Oh, yes, there it is.” He spared a glance at Crowley. “You’d better get dressed yourself, my dear, it’s well past time you headed out.”

Crowley let out a dramatic sigh and snapped his fingers, instantly clothing himself in Aziraphale’s attire. Aziraphale tsked at him and slid the snakehead latch into place. Crowley grimaced down at himself.

“Trust me, it’s less painful this way. If I had to put on this  _ ensemble _ piece by piece, I wouldn’t make it to the bowtie.”

“Ah yes, the tie!” Aziraphale slung the loose loop of silvery cording around his neck, then slipped into the fitted waistcoat. 

“Have you ever considered a pocket watch for this outfit? Perhaps a silver one, like you used to wear.”

“What, and give up my Bulova Limited Edition Deep Sea Chronograph? Not bloody likely. You know, that watch can—”

“—go up to six hundred sixty-six feet under water,” Aziraphale chimed in. “Yes, I know dear. No idea why that matters. When was the last time you were six hundred sixty-six feet under water?” Crowley shrugged. “Or submerged in any body of water, for that matter?”

“S’not important. Point is, I could be, and that beauty of Swiss engineering would keep on ticking. I’d like to see your precious pocket watch do that.”

“Nothing a little miracle wouldn’t fix.”

Crowley shook his head.

“You just don’t get modern technology. See, it’s humans, marvellous creatures. Ingenious. Never know what the clever buggers’ll think up next.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Aziraphale straightened the lapels of the black suit jacket. “Certainly keeps things interesting around here.”

“Exactly!”

“Well then, give me a hand with this?” He held out the overly-complex chronometer, and Crowley carefully fastened it around his wrist. 

“Don’t forget the glasses.”

“I won’t.” 

“Be careful.” 

“I will.”

“I’m serious, Angel. I thought you were dead, and it nearly killed me. Would’ve, if you hadn’t shown up.” He took Aziraphale’s hands in his. “I can’t lose you again.”

They stared into their own eyes, a complex mess of emotions playing across their features. 

“You’d better get going.”

“Not entirely sure where. S’pose I can go ‘round the bookshop, check the damage. It’s what you’d do, yeah?” Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Well.” They were both loath to say goodbye.

“If… if we don’t hear from our respective sides—former sides, that is—by noon, shall we meet up? St. James’s Park?”

Relief broke across Crowley’s face.

“Yeah, keep up appearances, right? Act like everything’s back to normal.”

“Precisely.”

“See you at noon then.”

“At noon.” Aziraphale did his best to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Crowley raised a hand to gently cup Aziraphale’s cheek, and then with a snap, he was gone. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1surely his eyes were deceiving him and that was not an authentic Da Vinci sketch, though he wouldn’t put it past the demon to have charmed his way into the artist’s good graces[return to text]
> 
> 2and perhaps a touch of angelic intervention[return to text]
> 
> 3strictly as prescribed by the regimented steps of the gavotte, of course[return to text]
> 
> 4and Christ did it stretch on for miles of lithe, taut muscles[return to text]
> 
> 5really there was no other word for it. Aziraphale had read his fair share of romance novels over the centuries, and its popularity endured for a reason.[return to text]
> 
> 6glarefully[return to text]
> 
> 7given the looks of him in the bar after he’d thought Aziraphale had burnt to a crisp with his bookshop[return to text]
> 
> 8another thing Aziraphale would have sworn his body couldn’t do[return to text]
> 
> 9Crowley invented the term yadda yadda, and considered it one of his best contributions to language in the last century[return to text]
> 
> 10He’d always been partial to: “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.”[return to text]
> 
> 11or as best he could get with Aziraphale’s less-than-serpentine limbs[return to text]
> 
> 12when She wasn’t demanding to know where a certain flaming sword was[return to text]
> 
> 13or at least a few more hours[return to text]
> 
> The Bulova Limited Edition Deep Sea Chronograph, aka [The Devil Diver](https://www.watchonista.com/articles/depth/bulova-history-firsts-exclusive-excerpt-bulova-666-devil-diver), is a real [vintage watch](https://omegaforums.net/threads/vintage-bulova-666-the-devil-diver.65919/page-5) from the 60s & 70s, which was recently [re-released](https://shop.riveredgejewelers.com/products/preorder-bulova-98c131-mens-limited-edition-devil-diver-automatic-swiss-movement-watch) by popular demand. Book!Crowley has a fancy deep sea diving watch and I like to think it was this one. It's very James Bond of him.
> 
> I started writing this fic in June 2019, it's been a long labour of love, and I'm so happy to FINALLY have it edited and out in the world! Please share with your friends if you enjoy it.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://iamjohnlocked4life.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/imjohnlock4life) ~ I love to hear from you!


	2. My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s mostly just sex.  
> I hope that’s okay.
> 
> It’s also a journey into self-love, in all its many forms.  
> I hope that’s okay too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated tags.

As it turned out, it wasn’t the fucking, which was a relief. They simply had to think really hard about it, with intent, and they were back in their own corporeal forms with no more than a handshake.

“Do you suppose it was easier this time because we were returning to our own bodies?”

“Dunno. Could be. Wanna try to do it again?”

“Better not risk it.” 

Risk had never been Aziraphale’s strong suit, and now that he was finally back in the comfortable, reassuring shape of his material form, he wasn’t overly fond of the prospect of leaving it again.

And so, they took things slow. Two days of nothing but hand holding.[1] Kissing for a whole week, eventually progressing to necking and heavy petting by day seven. It was the slow physical courtship they’d never had, yet both had so longed for; it was discovering it all anew. Every sensation felt fresh and exciting, and a little dangerous too. 

But they didn’t switch, and didn’t switch, and when they finally shared orgasms again, it was slow and careful and tender and achingly sweet. And when they lay there, panting and awed and still in their own bodies, they knew they were safe, firmly tethered back to their corporeal forms. 

Yet, Aziraphale could still feel that softness around the edges of their consciousness, the knowledge that if they _willed_ it, they would be able to do it again. 

A few months into their new arrangement, Aziraphale noticed Crowley staring at him. 

Now, Aziraphale was of course quite used to Crowley’s lingering, often penetrating gaze, having been the subject of it for millennia. But having been the sole recipient of this particular type of gaze from this particular demon, he’d become well-versed in said gaze and its many nuances and variations, so he could definitively say this fell outside the standard amount of gazing by… rather a lot.

There was only so much of it he could take before he snapped.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Aziraphale shot him a look over the top of his wireframe spectacles that clearly said _Do not fuck around with me today._ Crowley shifted in his chair.

“S’nothing, really.” He fidgeted with the armrests. “It’s just, do you ever… wonder. What it might have been like, if we’d had to have…” He raked a hand through his hair[2] and looked away. “...you know.”

Aziraphale thought he did know, but he waited. After a moment, Crowley shifted in his chair again, then continued.

“It’s just that I’d been—not looking forward to it, exactly, but I had been curious. What it would feel like, to pleasure myself, in your body.”

By this point, Aziraphale _had_ touched himself, in front of Crowley, much to Crowley’s delight, and had equally been aroused at the sight of his demon stroking those long fingers over his beautiful cock. He didn’t much want to watch his own body do that, but when he thought of doing that to himself in Crowley’s body. Well. He could see the appeal. He thought back to that morning after, touching Crowley’s body in the mirror, feeling that new penis respond to his caress, and flushed at the memory.

“I… suppose, when you put it like that, I understand.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, all trace of his hesitance gone.

“So, you’re not disgusted? Repulsssed?”

“No, not repulsed. To be completely honest, I must admit that the idea of pleasuring myself in your body had crossed my mind.”

Now both eyebrows were raised.

“Had it?”

“Once or twice, since the switcheroo. As you said, curious.”

“You are _never_ to refer to it as ‘the switcheroo’ again.”

“I don’t know, has a sort of flair to it, doesn’t it? Like a heist! _The ole switcheroo,_ ” he drawled in his best classic American West accent, which, if Crowley’s expression was any indication, could still use some work. 

“Angel!”

“Fine, fine. The point is, I’ve thought about it, and it may not be… entirely unpleasant. Pleasuring ourselves, that is. I’m not sure I want to be in the same room when you do that in my body.” 

“Really? You’d do the swap so we could each have a wank?”

“Well, you don’t have to put it so crassly, but yes. We could try that.”

“Oh, Angel!” He swept to his feet and pulled a startled Aziraphale up and into a kiss. For his part, Aziraphale tangled his hands in those loose copper waves and gave as good as he got. After a few minutes of heated snogging, he felt a nudge at his ethereal form, and he realised Crowley was reaching out to him, testing their boundaries. He pulled back.

“Now?”

“Ehrm, yeah? If you’re up for it. I mean, no pressure, we can take it slow, if you need time to—”

Aziraphale cut him off with a kiss, which Crowley immediately threw himself into with full force. He backed Aziraphale up into the nearest wall, and Aziraphale yanked him closer by his lapels. This time, Aziraphale reached out first, sending his consciousness through his lips, his tongue, through the hot wet connection of their mouths. Crowley moaned into the kiss, and then he was seeping in, filling Aziraphale cell by cell, as Aziraphale was entering each of his. It was slower, even slower than in the park,[3] and Aziraphale could _feel_ it, every gradually surging second of it, and had to admit it was more than a little erotic. To voluntarily inhabit another being’s form, and to freely allow them to seat themselves in yours—the amount of vulnerability and trust. It was heady.

Finally, he felt the last bit of himself click into place, and he sighed into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley sighed back in a higher register than normal, and Aziraphale was suddenly very aware that he now had his tongue in his own mouth, his hands gripping his familiar squishy arse.

“Oh!” He stepped back, putting some much needed space between them.

Crowley was panting, an erection breaking the clean line of Aziraphale’s khaki trousers. 

“Well, that was. Something.”

“Indeed.”

“Wasn’t like that in the park.”

“No.” He found his gaze being drawn back down to the obvious bulge at Crowley’s flies, and made himself look away. “Well. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” He took another step back and gestured to the bedroom. Crowley nodded and headed for the door, though there was something troubled behind his stormcloud eyes.

“Right. You can have the bed next, unless you want to do it out here? Or I could do it here and you can take the bedroom, whichever.”

“No!” He looked at the armchairs and sofa in horror. Had Crowley done that before in their sitting room? Where he kept his most precious books and manuscripts? They would have to discuss this later. “No, I can wait. Catch up on some reading. Have fun, dear.” He forced a cheery smile and sat back down with his book.

Except.

Except they’d just been snogging up against the wall, and it had been bloody hot. For all they’d explored each other’s bodies these past few months, and the many varied ways they could give each other pleasure, it had had a softness, a tenderness that was likely due to the gradual way they’d reintroduced physical intimacy into their relationship. And it was lovely—unbelievable, actually. Paradigm-shifting. Soul healing. 

And yet.

There was something to this other way, this hungry spark of need that sharpened all the edges and lit something in him. It was akin to the dangerous thrill he used to get when he got into Crowley’s car, or agreed to do a tempting. It was exhilarating, something Aziraphale rarely allowed himself to feel.

And his heart was still pounding in his ears and his blood was still thrumming in his veins, and he found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on the first edition Camus in his lap.[4] He was almost grateful when his frustrated reverie was broken by Crowley’s yells of “Aziraphale!” from the bedroom.

“What is it?” he called back.

“I need your help in here!”

He sighed and stood, placing the book back on the precarious stack teetering on the side table. He lingered in the doorway to the bedroom, looking warily at his naked body sprawled out on the bed.

“I told you, this is not my cup of tea.”

Crowley shifted on the bed.

“I know, it’s not that, I’m not—it’s just. We’ve been doing this, with each other, almost every day, usually multiple times a day, for weeks! I haven’t done this, alone for… well, ages before the whole apocalypse thing. Sort of puts one out of the mood.” He grimaced. “Point is, I’m having trouble, uh, finishing. Without you.”

“Oh.” It was rather sweet. 

“Could you just, I dunno, sit on the bed? Talk to me? You don’t even have to face me, just. Be close, yeah?”

“I can do that.”

Relief softened Crowley’s brow, and he scooted over to the far side of the bed to make room for Aziraphale. He approached slowly and tentatively perched on the edge of the mattress, facing the door. 

“Like this?”

“Yeah.”

“And… talk to you?”

“Please.”

“What—what should I say?”

There was a long pause. Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder to see Crowley was blushing.

“Nice things. About me.”

He could do that.

“You are so beautiful, my dear. I’ve always found you to be, you know. Quite alluring.” Crowley’s blush deepened, and he squirmed against the soft flannel sheets. It was strange, praising his beauty while he was in Aziraphale’s body, and seeing that body react to the praise as though it were directed at him. It made his face go hot as well, and he decided to change tack. 

“And you are really very sweet, even though you don’t like me saying. Thoughtful. Considerate. Romantic. You have the soul of a poet, do you know that?” 

Crowley groaned, his hand now moving over his cock, and Aziraphale suddenly recalled that he wasn’t meant to still be looking over his shoulder and quickly turned back to the door.

“More, please,” Crowley begged, and fuck, that was hotter than it had any right to be. Aziraphale scrabbled to think of a coherent response.

“You’re funny, even when you’re poking fun, and you can be clever, when you’re not trying to be too cool.”

“ _Angel._ ”

“Sorry. What I meant was, you’re perfect, Crowley. Perfect for me. You’re the only being I could possibly want to spend eternity with, and I am so, so lucky you feel the same way.”

Crowley made a strangled noise, and Aziraphale couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the urge to peek again. Crowley was bucking into his fist, while somehow also wriggling against the mattress. Aziraphale found himself unable to tear his gaze away. It was hypnotic, how Crowley made Aziraphale’s body writhe like some liquid thing, made his joints go fluid and his spine sway. He would’ve sworn his body had acquired a few new vertebrae. He could still see it was Crowley in there, his familiar noises, the way he always bites his lip and breathes hard through his nose. It’s erotic. It’s Crowley. 

“Don’t stop, please, I’m so close!”

“You… you’re everything to me. You’re the love of my life—my soulmate. My other half.”

With a gasp, Crowley went rigid, eyes pinched shut and body trembling. And then he was coming, and it’s beautiful, _he’s_ beautiful, and for a moment, Aziraphale thought he might be able to see what Crowley must see in him. He saw those delicate eyelids fluttering, that glowing, incandescent bliss breaking across his face, his halo of white hair, his rosy cheeks, his pulsing cock. 

It was beautiful. 

Crowley sank back into the mattress, all loose limbs and soft eyes.

“Thank you, Angel. That was exactly what I needed.” He looked down at Aziraphale’s lap. “And apparently what you needed too.”

Aziraphale followed his pointed gaze, and yes, he was hard. 

“Um, well. The kissing, earlier, had been particularly passionate.” Crowley arched a sceptical eyebrow. “And, also. Just now. You were making the loveliest sounds.” Crowley grinned smugly.

“Mmm, good to know,” he purred. “So, you want a hand with that?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to refuse but Crowley cut him off with a sly, “Or mouth.” And he slithered over to rest his head on Aziraphale’s thigh, hot moist breath puffing against his bulging flies, penetrating the thick, taut denim to tease his aching erection. He shuddered. And, well. With his head tilted down like that, he couldn’t even see his own face. Perhaps, if he didn’t look, it wouldn’t be _completely_ awful.

He let himself fall back on the bed and flung an arm over his face. 

“Yes, all right.”

There was a _snap!_ and Aziraphale found himself suddenly naked. 

“Oh!”

“If you think I’m messing around with those skin-tight trousers for a single second, you’re mad.”

“So, you admit—” But whatever gloating Aziraphale had planned flew his mind entirely as his cock was engulfed in wet heat. He choked back a moan, closed his eyes and just allowed himself to feel. And yes, it was Crowley licking him, Crowley sucking him, his demon’s now familiar technique. True, the tongue was shorter and wider, but it was still doing _that thing_ around the head that always drove him crazy. 

Crowley pulled off to say, “You can still pull my hair,” and Aziraphale glanced down to see his free hand had been fisted in the sheets. He did enjoy pulling Crowley’s hair while he performed this particular act, and he knew Crowley enjoyed it quite a lot as well.[5] He supposed he didn’t see the harm in it, so long as his eyes were still covered. He nodded, and Crowley guided his hand to the back of his head before resuming his ministrations.

It was a little odd at first, fisting great tufts of his own fluffy hair, but it was also soft, and Crowley groaned when he gave a tug, which sent vibrations racing down his cock and echoing throughout his entire body, and Aziraphale soon forgot whose hair was in his tight grasp as he pumped his hips up into Crowley’s mouth. The rougher he got, the more delicious noises Crowley made, his throat relaxing to allow Aziraphale to fuck into it, and Christ but it had never been like this before. He’d never let himself go like this, taken such extreme liberties with Crowley’s mouth, and it lit something in him, something carnal and base. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether these feelings were somehow rooted in this body, that he was able to feel this ferocious need thanks to his demonic form, but he let that go too, and fucked harder into Crowley’s throat.

For his part, Crowley was moaning and humping the mattress, clearly loving this new side of Aziraphale. He’d always liked it a bit rough, rougher than Aziraphale had been willing to give before, and now he was literally gagging for it. He dug his nails into Aziraphale’s thigh and Aziraphale cried out and came, pulsing deep down Crowley’s throat. He snapped, splintered, his orgasm rippling through him, fingers and toes still spasming even as his limbs grew heavy and weak. He was vaguely aware of Crowley releasing him from his mouth and wriggling up the bed to rest his head on Aziraphale’s stomach.

“This isn’t as comfy as it usually is,” he grumbled.

“Well, perhaps if you actually ate when we went on our dates, it would be.”

He licked his lips. Most of his brain was still trying to process the incredible things Crowley had just been doing with his mouth. Thinking of Crowley’s talented tongue, he flicked his out experimentally. It could come out significantly farther than his own, especially if he concentrated on it. With an effort, he envisioned the way he’d seen this tongue fork before,[6] and watched in awe as it split before his eyes. 

Something flitted through his head, something Crowley had said to him the other time they’d been in one another’s bodies, in front of the mirror, something about wanting to feel what that tongue could do. It did have quite incredible and unique capabilities. He could see why Crowley would be curious.

And Crowley _had_ just been so generous with his own tongue, and mouth and throat, letting Aziraphale do whatever he wanted, encouraging him, even, to simply take. Now, it was Aziraphale’s turn to give. 

He glanced down to where Crowley was rocking his hips gently against the mattress. From this perspective, his arse didn’t look half bad, jiggling pleasantly with every subtle thrust. He could do this, for his demon.

“Ssssso,” he said, and stopped, momentarily thrown at the unexpected hiss. Crowley looked up at him in surprise, then amusement.

“Figured out that trick, then?”

“Yesssss, well. About that.” He tried to compose his thoughts. “I remembered, a thing you’d mentioned. Before.” Crowley’s brow was furrowed in confusion. Damn. He was really going to make him say it. “About your tongue? How you’d like to feel it. Um. And I thought, maybe, I could try—I mean, if you’re ssssstill—”

Crowley was on all fours facing the wall before Aziraphale could blink, back arched and arse on full display.

“Oh God yes,” he pleaded into the duvet. Aziraphale slapped him lightly on the bum. 

“I will not have you taking the Lord’sss name in vain ussing my own lipsss!”

“It’s not in vain, oh please Angel, tell me it’s not in vain.” He writhed with need, and Aziraphale took pity and knelt up behind him. It was somewhat bizarre, looking at one’s own arse, but also in some ways easier than, say, what Crowley had just done to him. Since this was a part of his body he normally couldn’t see,[7] it would be easier to not think of it as his arse, and instead think of it as Crowley’s. And, well, he’d definitely do this to Crowley’s arse, had done as recently as last Thursday, so why shouldn’t he give the same pleasure to him again? It was just a different body. A rose, by any other name… he leaned in, lightly fluttering his forked tongue over his hole, which twitched in response.

“Aziraphaaaaaaale,” Crowley whined, and Aziraphale gave him another slap, this one a little harder, and Crowley bucked, hips snapping forward with a moan. 

“Oh! Oh, you like that, you naughty thing.”

“Go-Satan yes, I do!”

Another slap, hard enough to leave his hand stinging.

“You absssolutely will not ssay Hissss name with my mouth, you… you fiend!”

And again, and Aziraphale found he was taking pleasure in seeing that creamy pale flesh redden with handprints, _his_ handprints. Or rather, Crowley’s handprints, but wielded by him. Perhaps it was _because_ they were Crowley’s hands that it felt so good? Some sort of demonic transferral of will or lust, imprinted in his flesh? Whatever it was, he was starting to enjoy it a smidge too much. His cock was already at half mast, and here he was, supposed to be giving Crowley pleasure. Sometimes his ethereal refractory time was less a blessing, and more distracting.

Crowley was panting, and rocking his hips back for more.

“You won’t let me say Her name, you won’t let me say His name. Just who the He—bloody fuck am I supposed to curse at? To whom may I blaspheme?” He was aiming for sarcasm, but his rasping need bled through, making it sound like a plea.

Aziraphale ran his hands over hot, crimson cheeks.

“Me,” he said, and his voice had gone dark and rumbly in a way he hadn’t heard before. He gave a squeeze. “Ssssay my name.” And without warning he slapped both cheeks, hard. 

Crowley yelped, cried out, “Fuck, yes, Aziraphale, please!”

And now he was most definitely hard again. No, focus.

He slid down to his stomach, spread Crowley’s beautifully rouged cheeks, and flicked his tongue out again. Crowley groaned as he flitted and teased, a low, aching sound that grew in pitch and volume as Aziraphale got closer to his puckered hole. He wriggled and squirmed, trying to get closer, to where he wanted that tongue, but Aziraphale held him firmly in place.

“G—Aziraphale, please, for Heaven’s sake, show mercy!”

Aziraphale snaked his tongue down to stroke and twine around Crowley’s balls.

“Jeees—Azirrr—that’s… fucking amazing, but it wasn’t what I—”

Any words he had left were thrust out of his head by the tongue deep in his arse. And good Lord, it could go in deep, couldn’t it? He had, of course, been on the receiving end of this particular act with this very tongue, but it was an entirely different experience to feel it from this end, as it were. He could explore, probe, and when he flicked the split tip up and down just there, Crowley jerked as if touched by a live wire. 

“Fuck, Angel, fuck!”

He did it again, and again, sliding his tongue in and out, swirling and flicking and revelling in every jolt and gasp he earned. It was insanely good. He loved this, loved giving pleasure, loved being deep inside his partner, connected. As he thrust his tongue deeper, another part of his anatomy also clamoured for attention, wanted to be thrust deep inside Crowley instead. He hadn’t realised he’d been rutting against the sheets.

Would it really be so bad?

It was just an arse, one that happened to be Crowley’s at the moment, and he wanted to give Crowley pleasure, would still be giving Crowley pleasure. He would simply be taking his own now, as well.

He lapped over that spot that made Crowley spasm one last time, then slowly retreated. Crowley whined.

“Patience, my dear,” Aziraphale chided, and Lord, it was nice not to have a forked tongue and regain proper diction. He sat up on his knees. “What would you say…” and let the words trail off as his erection brushed Crowley’s arse. Crowley gasped.

“G—fuck, Aziraphale, yes, yes to whatever you want, please, yes!”

Aziraphale rubbed the head of his prick over Crowley’s slick entrance, now relaxed and open from the thorough tongue-fucking he’d just given it, dripping with his saliva. 

“Fuck.” It was barely a whisper, but Crowley immediately whipped his head around to stare at him.

“What was that?”

“Sorry, sorry, it just slipped out!”

“No, Angel, you don’t have to be sorry—it’s kinda hot, actually, surprised is all, don’t think I’ve heard you say _fuck_ before.”

“I have been known to curse, from time to time.”

“Good to know.”

Crowley had dropped his head back to the mattress, and it was easier again, not looking at his own face as he teased Crowley’s hole. 

“Kind of hot, hm?”

Crowley just whimpered and tried to rock back onto Aziraphale’s cock.

“You like it when I curse?” When he didn’t receive a response, he slapped Crowley’s arse. “I said, you like it when I curse?”

“Yes, Aziraphale, I fucking love it when you curse, shit, it’s so bloody hot!”

“So you would enjoy it, if I were to, I don’t know…” He pressed forward slightly, letting the head slip inside. “...fuck your arse with my cock?”

“Oh! Aziraphale! Oh my—someone, Angel, _my angel_ —yes!”

He slid deeper, slowly, steadily, gripping Crowley tightly to hold his hungry, writhing body in place.

“Don’t worry, my dear boy. I’ll take care of you.” He leaned over so he could whisper in his ear as he continued his sweet, slow torment. “I’m going to fuck you so well, make you feel so damned good.” Crowley shuddered around him as at last he closed that final millimetre that brought them flush. Aziraphale waited, held there, while Crowley twitched and wiggled his hips. He licked the back of his left earlobe, which he knew from firsthand experience was particularly sensitive, then gave it a sharp nip.

“I told you, I’m going to fuck you. Now relax.”

And as though he’d spoken the magic words, Crowley went slack, still breathing heavily, but compliant. Waiting.

“That’s better. You like to be punished when you’re naughty, but you also like being good for me, don’t you love?”

Crowley nodded his head into the duvet.

“And you’re being so good right now, so patient. You deserve a reward.”

He dragged his cock out, slowly, then slid back in. 

“Oh, please, more, please…” and though he begged, his body remained lax, yielding, so Aziraphale gave him another smooth thrust, and another. He kept the pace slow and steady, whispering praises, stroking the curves of his hips, the softness at his waist. His fingers kneaded, gripped, sank into soft flesh and he thrust deeper, again and again, getting lost in the rhythm.

“Az—Azira—oh, please, can you—my hair—please—” 

“Oh, Hell yes, I can,” Aziraphale growled, and grabbed a fistful of blond hair. 

“Oh! Oh fuck!” Crowley was still being so good, loose and pliant as he slipped forward on the mattresses with every thrust. “Harder! Please—” and then a gasp like all the air had been sucked out of the room, followed by an inhuman whine of pleasure-pain as Aziraphale slammed into him roughly, fist twisting in his hair, pulling, drawing his head back, up off the mattress. It was glorious, and it had Aziraphale thinking of his demon growing out his hair even longer, recalling fiery waves tossed dramatically through the air. He closed his eyes and saw handfuls of lush copper curls.

“Wait! Stop, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale was instantly still, preternaturally still, eyes snapping open, frozen mid-thrust.

“Oh my dear! Did I hurt you?” Terror clawed at his throat at the thought, the untenable idea that he’d caused his demon any _unwanted_ pain. “I’m so sorry darling, I can spare a quick miracle,” and he lifted his hand from Crowley’s head. 

“No!” Crowley panted. “No, Angel, you did nothing wrong, I’m fine. I’m amazing actually, but I’m about to come, and—” he looked over his shoulder, blue eyes nervous, vulnerable, “—I’d really like to be looking in your eyes, when I do. When we switch back. It’s still you in there, and I just… want to see,” he finished a little helplessly.

And how could Aziraphale deny him this? He stroked Crowley’s hair gently, trailing fingers down his spine.

“All right, love. We can do that.”

Carefully, he pulled out of Crowley’s tight heat, and helped rearrange the demon on his back, crystal clear eyes gazing up at him with such naked affection that Aziraphale felt his heart twist in his chest. It was his Crowley, he could see that in the tentative smile, the slight shimmy as he made himself comfortable. And he was beautiful. It surprised him, how radiant his own body body looked, flushed and dewy with sweat, positively glowing from their exertion. It caught him completely off guard, and he stared down at him in silent awe as Crowley spread his plush thighs wide and pulled his knees up higher than Aziraphale had thought his body capable. 

“Do it, Angel, please. Come with me.”

With a steadying breath, Aziraphale slid his hands up his broad hips, caressing love handles, soothing over his round belly and running fingers through the soft snowy down scattered across his chest. Funny how different this felt, touching the body he’d inhabited for millennia, this old corporation he knew so well that he rarely paid any mind to it at all. It had simply been the vessel he was given, no more or less, and he’d never thought much of it. Certainly not as flashy as Michael or Gabriel, but then he wasn’t an archangel, and a less eye-catching form had served him well down here on Earth. He knew his appearance put humans at ease, engendered a degree of trust that had proved useful for his work. All part of Her plan, no doubt, and that had always been good enough for him. If the passing thought occurred, prompted by a snide jab from one of his fellow angels or the way a particularly sleek outfit clung to Crowley, that perhaps he was not up-to-snuff in the looks department, he marked it down as the base lure of vanity and suppressed it as best he could. 

Yet now, as he watched the body beneath him respond to his touch, he was overcome with an entirely new feeling, a surge of affection for this supple human form. Every curve invited exploration, yielding to his fingertips, filling his palms, moulding itself to his caress. He bent and pressed a reverent kiss to the centre of his chest, hair tickling his nose, heart beating steady and strong against his lips. 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley whispered, and he could feel the vibrations of his own name through his chest. “Need you inside me. Please.”

Aziraphale nuzzled his chesthair with a grin.

“Oh yes, dearest, I can do that.”

He stroked across Crowley’s collarbones, over rounded shoulders and down his arms to interlace their hands together. 

“Hold tight.”

With a sly wink that he knew would be perfectly at home on Crowley’s face, Aziraphale brought their joined hands up to the pillow, pinning Crowley’s hands above his head. He looked down at where Crowley was still spread open for him, and God help him, he was salivating at the sight. He aligned their hips, and then drove deep into him with a long, steady thrust. Crowley arced off the bed, legs wrapping instinctively around Aziraphale’s back in a death grip the way they always did, and yes, this was Crowley, just softer. 

“Aziraphale! Oh fuck, Angel, love, my love—” He broke off into a whimper that pulsed to the relentless rhythm Aziraphale set. Aziraphale could tell he was close, so close, pushing up into him, seeking friction. He released one of Crowley’s wrists and brought his hand to his mouth to lick his palm with that long, agile tongue. Then he reached down to wrap his hand around Crowley’s cock, which was also his cock. He briefly wondered whether this would count as self-pleasure or not, but realised that was, had always been, one and the same. It was self-pleasure, because Crowley’s pleasure was his pleasure, and his pleasure was Crowley’s, just as he felt Crowley’s pain or sorrow as his own. Not only were their fates inextricably intertwined, their happiness was too. 

Crowley’s free hand fisted in flannel sheets, his other fought against Aziraphale’s, straining, but Aziraphale held him down, fucked him into the mattress. Crowley’s shocked blue eyes grew impossibly wider, “Oh fuck, Angel, I’m—” 

“That’s it, love, come for me, I love you, you gorgeous creature,” not caring one bit that he was currently staring at his own face contorted with ecstasy. He was gorgeous, they are, together, like this. And then they were both shuddering, coming, coming apart and expanding beyond the confines of their material frames. For an eternal moment, they were both, they were all, angel and demon, seeing through two sets of eyes, a hall of mirrors, reflections upon reflections of bliss. 

And then pleasure propelled them on, shooting them forward and out through the ethereal plane, crash landing back into their own cells with a jolting aftershock. Aziraphale was suddenly on his back, Crowley above him and inside of him, very prominently filling him in a way he’d never been before. They’d spent the past few months tenderly exploring each other’s bodies, sharing touch and giving pleasure, but somehow they hadn’t gotten around to trying this configuration. This was it: the first time Crowley was inside of him. 

“You’re inside of me.”

“Oh God, Angel. I’m inside of you.” 

Crowley stared in shocked awe, then began hardening again. Aziraphale’s cock was similarly thickening, still in Crowley’s loose, wet grip, and his fingers gave a reflexive squeeze against his growing erection. 

“Can you? That is, do you want to?”

For a heartbeat, Aziraphale thought perhaps it was going to be too much for his body, after the pounding he just gave it, but then the head of Crowley’s hardening cock brushed up against a spot inside Aziraphale that shot a spark of pleasure through every nerve he was conscious of, and possibly a few extras he’d previously not even known existed.

“Do that again.”

He did. 

“Again.”

This was new, the feeling of Crowley on top of him, weighing him down, surrounding him and pressing into him. 

He took his free hand and guided Crowley’s wet hand from his cock up to his mouth to lick it clean. Fine, yes, he was technically licking his own emissions, but it was also Crowley’s, and it was all so confusing but also bloody hot, and Aziraphale decided to not care, to just enjoy the flavour and sensation of licking those long, slender fingers and hearing the delicious noises Crowley made in response. He sucked his thumb into his mouth and Crowley groaned, rocking his hips inside him, and Lord above, Aziraphale loved it, this feeling of being filled at both ends. He was hungry for it, ravenous. He lavished his thumb with tongue and lips, then pulled off to pant, “More!” He took two of Crowley’s long fingers into his mouth, sucked and laved them with obscene fervor, until Crowley was fucking him in both holes. He was practically gagging on Crowley’s fingers but desperate for more. 

The demon still had one of his hands pinned to the mattress, fucking into him, and it was relentless, the pleasure, the feeling of being owned and conquered. It was another new strange kind of exciting, tinged with the thrill of danger. He wanted more. He slid his free hand up above his head, and Crowley grinned with a particularly devilish glint in his eye. With a flex of fingers, he pinned both of Aziraphale’s wrists overhead in one large, strong hand. Aziraphale tilted his hips up and wrapped his legs around Crowley’s back, urging him on with his heels against his arse, and oh! He now understood why Crowley preferred this manoeuvre. It pressed them closer, his own cock still slick with come glided between their stomachs with just the right amount of friction. He was struck with a newfound appreciation for his soft, round belly, gently pushing up and providing an ideal cushion to rub against, the perfect counterpoint to Crowley’s hard abdominals against the sensitive underside of his cock. Once again, he found his pleasure between them, at their union, the places where their two bodies joined and became a single engine of pleasure, working towards this common goal. 

“Crowley, love, I—”

“Yesss, my Angel, my love, God, how I love you, yes, please, Azzzsssssiraphale!”

With one last cry of “Crowley!” Aziraphale climaxed, his soul lifting subtly to the surface, its hold still lax on his form. Ethereal energy sparkled across his edges like sunlight dancing on water. He felt Crowley’s essence press against his own where they touched, crackling with the power of his orgasm as he spent himself deep in Aziraphale’s body. And the feeling of that, good Lord, of Crowley pulsing inside him, filling his already wet hole again, was enough to send a fresh wave of bright hot bliss throughout his trembling frame.

Eventually, his soul settled back into its proper place, organs and pores and hair follicles aligning with spirit once more. He blinked tears he hadn’t known he’d shed out of his eyes and smiled up at Crowley, who was looking down at him with the sort of dazed expression usually reserved for the recently concussed. 

“So...” Crowley tried, then shook his head stupidly.

“Quite.”

Crowley made a few more stuttering, incoherent attempts at speech[8] before giving it up as a bad job. Instead, he settled for a dopey grin, which Aziraphale absolutely found adorable, and a quick peck on the tip of Aziraphale’s nose that made him giggle.

“You ridiculous creature, come here and cuddle me properly.”

“Mmm…” He slid his nose alongside Aziraphale’s in a gentle caress. “M’not cuddly.”

“Of course not.”

“Fierce demon, me.” 

“I know, my dear, you are a formidab—” He was cut off by the soft press of lips against his, the slow glide of a kiss so tender it brought tears to his eyes afresh. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sweet push-pull give of this act, being done for its own sake, for the expression of pure emotion it was capable of when words failed. It was as transportative, as transcendent, as any hymn or prayer, a heavenly choir rejoicing at the space between their lips. 

As the kiss faded to light nips and shared breath, Crowley slowly pulled out of him. It was clear he was taking care to be gentle, but the sensation still wrenched a small gasp from Aziraphale.

“Sorry Angel. You okay?” 

“Yes, I’m fine, just unexpected. It does feel awfully different when we’re not, um, carnally engaged, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, that bit’s always somewhat—” He gave a little wriggle that shimmied across his shoulders and down to his hips. “You get used to it.” He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead, then hesitated. “I mean, if you want to, of course. Don’t have to if you don’t like it.”

“Oh honestly, I’m not made of glass, dearest. Could you not tell how much I was enjoying myself?”

Crowley turned bright red in response, made a muffled noise that sounded like the skipping of a badly scratched record, and burrowed into the pillow at Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale patted his head, then let his fingers trail through his hair. 

“I do like your hair at this length, you know.” He received a non-committal grunt and the merest flash of gold through a slitted lid. “You have such beautiful hair, always have.” He hesitated, but decided to plunge ahead. “I remember you used to plait it sometimes, when it was longer. It was rather fetching, as I recall.” The golden gaze fixed more firmly on him, accompanied by a raised brow. “I… well, if you are interested, if you would care to, I wouldn’t mind if you—”

Crowley tossed his head, and his hair unfurled in luscious waves, spilling down his shoulders. He smirked knowingly at Aziraphale.

“Like this?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale tentatively touched a coppery lock, lifted it carefully and let it twine around his finger. “Oh, yes. This is. Nice.”

Crowley’s eyebrow arched impossibly higher. 

“Nice?”

“Very nice.” He now felt his own face heating, and resisted the urge to plunge his face into those inviting auburn tresses and hide. Crowley snorted and curled up along Aziraphale’s side, head propped on his chest to conveniently allow Aziraphale access to his newly grown hair.

“If I’d’ve known you had a thing for long hair, I’d never’ve gone short.”

“I do not have a thing.”

“Do too.”

“Oh hush. I love you and your hair at any length. And it was a bit of a thrill, never knowing what to expect when I saw you next. Kept me on my toes.”

“Just keeping up with the fashions, Angel. Got a reputation to maintain.”

“I know all about you and your reputation, you wily old serpent.” Crowley wiggled in self-satisfaction and wound himself tighter around Aziraphale. 

“Mmm, worked, didn’t it? Managed to tempt a Principality, that’s gotta be worth something.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the top of his fiery crown.

“It’s worth everything, my dear. Absolutely everything.” They passed a few minutes in contented silence, all of existence narrowed down to simply this, holding one another, and being held. Aziraphale played with Crowley’s long locks, nails scratching his scalp and carding through his hair, and Crowley made small sounds of pleasure. 

“So.” Aziraphale found his mouth moving without his say-so. “We tried rather a lot of new things today.” Crowley hummed drowsily in response. “Did you… did you prefer it? Like that. You, inside me.”

“Angel. Sssweetheart.” His words were slurring in that sleepy, snakey way the verged on lisp. “I like it all. I like _you._ I lusssst after you, and I want you in any and all ways you’ll have me. I’d let you gag me and whip me and fuck me raw if that’s what you wanted to try, or I’d have you bent over the kitchen counter, face in a profiterole if that’s what would get you off, any kink or fetish or perverse impulse you have, I’m game. Literally any combination of you and me, any way we can find pleasure in each other’s bodies s’good with me.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say to all that, but he managed, “Oh, that’s… good to know.”

Crowley tipped his head up, chin propped on Aziraphale’s sternum. 

“Sssssso… which did you like better, Angel?”

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment, the feelings of both of being inside of Crowley, and having Crowley inside him. He thought of Crowley’s mouth too,[9] and hands, and other body parts he could rub and press against. Then he considered the torrent of possibilities Crowley had just unleashed into the world, and the myriad of others that the flippantly rattled off list had implied.

“I suppose I don’t know yet.” He beamed down at his demon. “There’s so much more left to try.” 

Crowley’s eyes widened fractionally, but he simply nodded slowly back at him. 

“And what about the other thing we did.” He lifted a languorous hand to gesture between them. “The ‘switcheroo’.” He pronounced the word in a slightly posh lilt that Aziraphale suspected was meant as a teasing impression, but came off a tad too endearing to carry any sting.

“Not… entirely awful.” 

“Seemed to be enjoying yourself. I believe your exact phrasing was _“Fuck!”_ Eloquent, that.”

“Yes, fine, it was—unexpectedly hot.” Aziraphale’s cheeks burned, and he was tempted to break eye contact, but Crowley did so first, contemplatively gazing down at the thatch of white hair he was nestled in.

“It was. Different,” Crowley tried hesitantly. “You seemed more intense.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the demonic influence of your corporeal form,” Aziraphale teased, but he sobered when he noted Crowley’s still downcast eyes, complex emotion playing across his face. He continued, more seriously, “I suppose it might be easier for me to let go when I’m not so closely tethered to my angelic nature. It felt… looser. Almost wild. Was it okay? I do hope I wasn’t too rough with you, my dear.”

“I told you, Angel, I want you any way you’ll have me, and no, it was definitely not too rough.” He bit his lip and looked up at Aziraphale with mischief in his eyes. “Could go rougher, next time. 

“Next time?”

“I mean, only if you want.”

Aziraphale thought about the dichotomous sensation of taking control and letting loose. He thought about soft hips and thick thighs. He thought about Crowley staring out of blue eyes awash with pleasure. He thought about that moment of merging, of crossing over and joining together, a union of pleasure where he couldn’t tell who was who and it didn’t matter because it was all love and joy and acceptance. 

“I think I might want. Not all the time, mind you. I much prefer making love to you in this sexy body of yours, you old tempter. But sometime, when we’re both in the mood, we could try that again.”

Crowley settled his head back on Aziraphale’s chest, cheek pressed over his heart.

“Whatever you want Angel. I’m happy, as long as it’s with you.” 

As long as it was them, together, it would be just as it should be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1replete with romantic strolls in St. James’s park, exactly how Aziraphale had imagined[return to text]
> 
> 2now kept at manageable shoulder length—long enough for Aziraphale to grip great fistfuls of whenever the mood struck, but hardly ever needed detangling. Crowley insisted anything longer wouldn’t fit his current aesthetic, whatever that meant, and Aziraphale had let the matter go.[return to text]
> 
> 3which had been aeons slower than the heartbeat flash of the initiating event[return to text]
> 
> 4that, and his French was still rubbish, even after all these years[return to text]
> 
> 5possibly more than Aziraphale, even[return to text]
> 
> 6either 1) when it was wrapped around around Aziraphale’s cock like a pink ribbon or 2) when Crowley was particularly pissed and got all sssibilant and lisssspy[return to text]
> 
> 7at least not without a good deal of effort[return to text]
> 
> 8which Aziraphale always found secretly adorable but would never tell him for fear he’d try to stop it[return to text]
> 
> 9and all the clever things he could do with that tongue[return to text]
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic! Comments greatly appreciated ♥  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://iamjohnlocked4life.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/imjohnlock4life) ~ I love to hear from you!
> 
> This fic started as a one-shot called Last Night, but by the time I got to the end of writing _the night they spent at Crowley's,_ I knew there was more story to tell, that Aziraphale had more he needed before I could move on. It began as a desperate hookup, but became a story of growth and self-love. Once I knew where this was going, I came up with the 2nd chapter title fairly easily, but I struggled for a long time coming up with a title for the entire work, one that could encompass both parts succinctly. Through stream of consciousness brainstorming, I finally landed on this title and everything clicked into place. Also, [this song](https://youtu.be/2v5d3WHVQFY) is such a great Ineffable Husbands ballad (though the lyrics are much more Crowley POV than Aziraphale—but then perhaps they're one and the same?)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic even a sliver as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sending you so much love ♥♥♥


End file.
